


No Limit, No Title

by WhatADeer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Emo Kylo Ren, M/M, Marriage Contracts, Political Alliances, Politics, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-10-02 11:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17263514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatADeer/pseuds/WhatADeer
Summary: Idiots fumble through the nuances of a political matchup. Space Murder Army Man thinks he's really smart; Kylo Who Wears Black is in it to piss off his mom and maybe fall in love or whatever.A Prince!Ben (but it's Emo!Kylo now omg ugh mom) marriage of convenience AU.Hux = copious anxiety. That is all.





	1. Guts and Glory

The brain is a marvelous computer, built with an administrative system over the body to stop it from damaging itself past repair. Knives were made to cleave, after all, and while holding the blade to skin was easy, parting the flesh was easy, spilling the blood was easy, something about the ownership of the hand sharing name with the ownership of the gore made it sit differently. Something about the pain being preventable, stoppable, made it difficult to start, and Hux thought that to be beautifully fascinating.

It hadn’t been depression that had done it. It hadn’t been psychosis, though some may argue, and it hadn’t been a “need to feel” or a cure for boredom; Hux cut because it was part of the look. It was a necessary evil, and overcoming his own body’s self-preservation system was simply a means to an end. If he meant to gain the trust of one Ben Solo, he had to look the part, and if that meant mutilation, then that was what it meant. System override, for the greater good.

“For the greater good,” he repeated through his teeth. They were clenched tightly around the ends of the tourniquet cutting off circulation to his arm- he doubted the Solo boy put this much care into his own purposeless agony -and had begun to ache with the pressure. He was already sporting a headache over this whole ordeal, and he knew, logically, the sloppy-looking crosshatch would itch like hell, especially wearing long sleeves like he knew he should do. They couldn’t all flaunt their scars like Solo, they didn’t all and that was a fact. Ben would want proof, or check for himself if he felt so inclined. A faux-bloodied bandage just wouldn’t do. He hated himself for the leagues he was willing to go for this. The lack of self respect, externally, felt disgusting to him, but again: it was for his own greater good.

The blood came up easily with a wetted cloth, more or less, save a ring of crusted rust around the inflamed area, bits caught on torn skin and some marks intentionally agitated with a harsher knife for the sake of authenticity. He worked not to really hurt himself. He had kept track of how much blood he had lost and how deeply he had applied pressure, where, how many veins, more or less, had been punctured. Still, though, a wound was a wound, and it would bother him until it healed. That was assuming, of course, that this ruse would be up by the time the first session’s cuts had closed. If it went on any longer than that, he would have to peel them open, slice over them, scar himself and scar himself and then, truly, he would have to wear long sleeves, just for the shame of it. The lengths he would go to for his father, honestly. The lengths he would go to for himself. Deplorable.

Hux wrapped his forearm tightly, too tightly. His hand flushed, but the pressure felt good, distracted from the pointed slashes of throbbing, blood vying to escape his skin. He untied the tourniquet, his hand going white, purple rushing to the edge of the bandage, his free hand grasping his wrist tight as he hissed, “--Fuck!”

He ever so slightly loosened the gauze. Red flooded the fabric, “Too deep, too deep, fuck-” and Hux’s removed sense of unease was replaced with a heightening sense of nausea, a lightheadedness, a panic that mounted up and up, over him until it came crashing upon him, and a moment later, he opened his eyes again.

In some ways, it looked like a crime scene. In others, it looked like an operation in a surgical room. In every way, it was both. Shame and embarrassment overcame him in an instant, seeing all the instruments he had used to recreate what could have easily been replicated with a hunting knife alone, spots of blood on white carpet, cuts of fabric and unopened antiseptic on the bed, wiki-how and yahoo answers pages on how to safely self-harm, himself, Armitage Hux, with a bandage hanging from his arm- blood slowly gurgling into the carpet -as he scrambled to cover it again and apply enough pressure to staunch the flow. His headache was incredible; despite his best efforts, the stupidity of the situation had begun to set in.

Brendol Hux had lost his seat in the Senate. He had implored rather than ordered his son, had urged him in confidence, to woo the prince of Naboo- for the prince was fickle and stubborn, and while disadvantageous to Ben, Hux would benefit greatly from such a marriage. Solo would do as he would do, and if Hux could garner his affection, Ben would take action regardless of the queen mother, regardless of the benefits of the crown. He was a vain and selfish boy, childish and wanton, and would quicker wed to spite his parents than at all. Hux had seen this Ben Solo, had surveyed him and knew, just by looking, that the hard-Goth, pierced and tattooed, heavily done-up manchild that was heir to Naboo would not be one easily fooled. He would only bend to one of his own kind, one of his own spirit- a spirit Hux could not sympathize with, but perhaps, could become.

If they were to be companions, one of them had to give. Ben Solo did not appear one to kneel, even for the sake of deceit; he was a fool, and as a pipe, Hux would play him, would entrap him, and would secure his own place in the Senate by their union’s virtue.

Ben wanted to see his scars. Hux fully intended to show them. He would become the dark knight the fool prince would pine for, and would win his heart, and through that heart, the crown.


	2. In Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First dates. Very sad, just tragic.

 

It was a rigorous process. He had to paint his nails, a horrid, emasculating experience, and then he had to chew them back and chip it as though it had always been. Hux had always kept manicured hands, a manicured appearance, a manicured life. Now, he worked on autopilot. It was part of the task at hand, a job and nothing more. After the marriage, he could do as he liked again; settle once more into his own skin, a carbon copy of his father. That was who he was, and who he would be, but stronger. For this effort, he would be stronger. This is what he told himself, green eyes red and weeping as he applied eyeliner for the first time. How the Naboo did this, all their men in makeup and dresses, he didn't know. It hurt his cornea, and it hurt his pride.

Hux looked himself in the mirror, really looked. He had wanted to go for a more moderate extreme, a “scene” aesthetic rather than an outright Goth- he couldn't be mistaken for copying, after all. Ben Solo hadn't cut his hair in four years, or if he did, he did it himself. It was choppy and very carefully styled to look as though he had rolled out of bed, then mashed down with a hat. Armitage had his hair trimmed every three months and combed twice a day, once after his shower in the morning, and once after his repeat performance at night. He only wore a hat when the time called for it, and even then, never inside.

The “scene” aesthetic featured Goth characteristics without the black, which meant Hux could keep his hair as it was. He would hate to dye it, as achieving his natural color through bleaches would ruin it, and going some hideous extreme in another direction, blue, for example, meant embarrassing himself not only while calling on the Naboo heir, but always.

His shoes were the only normal part of his outerwear. Black and sturdy, tall, leather. They were just his size. Other than that, his pants were torn and uncomfortable, tight, and his shirt was the same. Purple, blue, red, stripes, stars doodled in marker, he had it all, and he looked terrible, felt terrible- Force, he was  _ hideous.  _ On his lips, as his elder sister had recommended so generously, was the soft glimmer of iridescent gloss. It was sweet tasting, some Arkanis berry flavor, and that, paired with the charcoal lining his eyes and hair fluffed in his face, really threatened to drive him to the edge.

He tugged the hem of his sleeves over his fingers, pulled at them. He had been right. The scabs did itch, were new enough to tear and bleed a little, but that was alright.

Nothing was more authentic than hating his life.

 

Kylo Ren was emo, sure, but he was also prince, the oldest, and had a date. It was arranged, something his mom had drawn up, but a date was a date, and he didn't want to go. Leia had said it was important he do his best to impress, that he behave and perform well on behalf of the planet, behalf of the council- that he not pull any stunts, especially with the Force, while he was off representing her. Kylo, he wouldn't answer to Ben anymore, wouldn't be her trick pony, and certainly wouldn't play into some political scheme to keep the Senate seat. It wasn't like his mom could lose it. She was queen. He was, technically, a prince, and would have it one day anyhow.

This “Hux” character, though, he was nothing, and that, at least, was intriguing. No real birthright, just a long legacy of military prowess preceeding him and a reputation for being an uptight prude, as Rey had so generously noted. They were nothing alike. His mother, on the other hand, had insisted with the utmost urgency that he make nice with their family. They had been powerful a long time and would seek to be so again, that they were good allies, good protectors of any court. She had been so insistent, in fact, that she had hand dressed him herself, had picked out everything and made sure he kept it on. The only freedom he was given were his earrings, and those were modest silver loops and nothing more, customary on their planet anyhow.

Every other suitor, of any gender, had bored him, tried to seduce him, or worse. Kylo had every intention of showing up, breaking some hearts, and going home.

So when he arrived on neutral ground, the Intergalactic Relations lounge of the Naboo court, his hair was plaited by his mother's own hand, his suit was fitted, his shoes were shined. He was the picture of a future patriarch he hadn't had time to dishevel, and he had every intention of telling the kid off and marching out the door again. Instead, Kylo choked.

There was a man there about his own age, a foot on the edge of the table as he balanced precariously on the back legs of his chair. Red hair was mopped in his eyes, his clothes a violent wash of color in the otherwise blank reception room. His fingers twitched between his teeth as he nibbled the raw edges of his newly shorted nails. His sleeves were drawn up carelessly, red raked over his skin that made Kylo wince. No matter how far the prince walked into the room, damn near petrified, the boy wouldn't look him in the face. The only indication he had been seen was the tension radiating through his visitor, stiff as a board in his feigned position of comfort, and the harsh red blush creeping down his neck the closer Kylo got.

 

_ I'm overdressed for this _ .


	3. Bitches Get Stitches  (Because They Need Them)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just be yourself, kids.

It was strange, how easy it was to develop a habit. Nail biting had always seemed barbaric to him, but he had taken to it for nerves, a natural behavior- at least, one that would be, if any of this were natural to him -and now he couldn't stop. He had a fleck of black polish between his teeth. He licked it away with some distress, bit his lip, gripped the table to keep his hand out of his mouth, dropped his weight with a bang as the front of his chair fell with the shift of his arms and he was suddenly level with the notorious Ben Organa Solo.

He was unconventionally handsome, but handsome nonetheless- looked nothing like what his spies and foreign relations agents had insisted. He would shoot them himself when he got home. He would, in his skinny jeans. Then again, there was a blaster in his left boot. He could do away with it now.

Ben had braided hair, and it was long- would have to be to style it as such -but it wasn't unruly. The only makeup he donned was lipstick, and that was traditional; unusual for Hux to behold, but elegant. Exotic. He wore what Hux would, an Arkanisan style suit in black, and his socks matched. His own did not.

Armitage had never, ever, been more mortified in his life.

He didn't dare look away, though he desperately wanted to- to reiterate, desperately- and Kylo only stared back. The look he returned, however, Hux noticed was not horror or shock or disgust. It wasn't even confusion; it was surprise. He might even say that it was awe. Perhaps there was benefit to the shock-value after all. Maybe his agonies hadn't been in vain.

“--You're not what I expected,” Kylo babbled despite himself at last. “I'm sorry, I just-” and that wasn't a common phrase in either of their households, “-I don't know what to say.”

“And yet you speak,” the retort rolled from his tongue. Hux could kick himself, and he may as well have. Pulling his sleeves to the ends of his fingertips, he was certain his scabs would tear again, too fresh to go unbandaged. He hated this, all of it- he had made a fool of himself and now had to endure this worst of humiliation. His green eyes zoned in on them instead, badges of shame. His hands were strange to him. Kylo sat stiff in what Hux assumed was some level of offense.

“...I don't mind the quiet,” he corrected. At least that much was true, even he said it too loudly, too harshly, too much. The tension relented some, but little. His host graciously forgave his sass- Force knows what his father would say if he came home with a formal discharge on his head. No, Kylo only shrugged minimally- Hux still avoided his gaze -and said no more.

Dinner progressed in silence, one course, then two. Hux did not eat. He didn't smile, didn't flirt- there was no point. He had ruined himself by his antics and wild planning, had run beyond his strength. It had all been a gross error. His family was disgraced and relations with the Naboo were over. At least he would have the scars to prove it.

“--That's your name, right?”

He jumped, clamoring to save the glass he nearly toppled and meeting his intended with frantic eyes. Kylo had a smile he feigned to hide, a pitying one. Sorry, almost. Hux cleared his throat.

“Could you repeat that?” Maybe he could save it- he'd already made an ass of himself and up to this point been nothing but rude, but it was testament to Organa’s character that he hadn't left or seen him out- that he'd humored his drama. It may not be hopeless after all, though it was a light chance.

“What do I call you?” Kylo asked, and he had a hard time decoding the question. His eyes were dark and serious and the smile was gone, rare and fleeting, it seemed. The amazement and incredulity had by now worn off, and try as he might, it seemed the prince had a limit to how much of Arkanisan nonsense he would indulge. Armitage couldn't blame him.

“Hux is fine,” he murmured- he hated rambling, mumbling, the like. Force knew why he was doing it now. There were no safety nets here, no collar to hide behind, no pressed shirt. He had left behind his shined cufflinks and combed hair and all other niceties- no pocket square today. With no plan and no defenses, he was left scrambling, and with no will to scramble- his pride wouldn't allow it- he was at an impasse. 

Kylo only nodded thoughtfully and returned his attention to his- Hux couldn't say what it was. He had spent hours studying Naboo culture, cuisine among it, but he'd spent so long drilling alternative punk into his mind that he couldn't recall that specific dish. Something meat-based, surely, but it smelled sweet. His own meal had long gone cold, and with a hot flush of shame, he bit what was left of his nails into his palms.

“Kylo,” the prince answered, perhaps prompting. Hux couldn't say. So he didn't.

 

His father was livid, so angry he wouldn't look him in the face- cursed him in his mind. Hux wished he would just say what they were both thinking. He wished he had the kind of father to rant and rave and throw a tantrum, to punish him somehow, but no. Brendol Hux was a man of restraint, and his weighty disappointment came in a form of silence and passive aggression. Every now and again, when he was young, he might take to a belt or a switch, might trip him down the stairs if he felt particularly spiteful, but the ex-Senator was old, and had principles. Previous incidents were for his benefit anyway. 

No, Hux went back to his combed hair and collared shirts, but his hands bore the record of his failure. His arms, too, hidden as they were. It had been an act of mania, surely, that had lead to his humiliation. A brief suspension of reason, cloudy presumption- which had cost him his only chance at glory. It would be nigh impossible to find a suitor above his station close enough to his connections for a match, and marrying beneath himself would do him no good. 

So he thought, until the notice came.

It came in a white letter a full week later, printed on-planet from a holofeed at the embassy and delivered by droid. Why the prince didn't use a hologram method, Hux couldn't say, but the summons in his hands made it more real, and the words it carried couldn't be misunderstood.

_ I will be in Arkanis three days from when this letter arrives. I'm in need of a guide; if you're interested, I will be at the Naboo Embassy at midday. _

_ Kylo Ren _

_ House Solo Organa, Crown Prince of Naboo _


	4. When You're Ready, Come and Get Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date 2  
> Why are they like this? The world may never know. Hux certainly doesn't, and if Plan B doesn't work, well...

He was quiet, really quiet, and seemed so pitifully uncomfortable in his own skin that normally, Kylo wouldn't have looked twice at him. The thing about Armitage Hux, though, was that there was something going on underneath. There was some kind of rebellion in him, and should Kylo find it, he may have met his match- not that he was looking for one, it would just be convenient. His mother would be more than pleased, which was a bit of a downer, but if it strengthened his claim to the throne, it couldn't hurt him. Kylo could still see those fresh lines of bright pink peeking from his sleeves when he thought too hard about him, and he wondered what kind of life Hux had lived to drive him to such an act, and so aggressively. What could have distressed him other than their impending meeting? He had obviously been nervous, even agitated, and it was bold of Kylo to attribute all that anxiety to himself, but the wounds were so fresh, and so avidly hidden. Hux had seemed so  _ guilty _ .

Kylo felt awful.

Rather than address his mother's inquiries, he spent a day pacing and pondering it, scouring his imagination for where things went wrong, how he could have eased tension. It didn't occur to him that the affair may have become a fixation until morning, when first light saw his first thought: who is Armitage Hux? It was a quest now. The mystery eluded him, and if he couldn't break it himself, he would lose his mind. It was rare he found keen interest in a subject, much less a person, but when he did, letting go was inconceivable. Kylo refused to be defeated.

It would be better, he thought, if they met on ground more suited to Hux. The Arkanisan would have more control there, surely, and feel more free to talk. If they met a third time, it would be considered an engagement by Naboo standards- Kylo wouldn't think too hard over that detail. His own parents had to cross the darkest reaches of the galaxy for three full years before they even considered a legal match. Leia was of Alderaan. If he was approached on the subject, he could always claim to pay dues to their customs out of respect- customs, which, of course, included extravagant periods of courting in close quarters. The queen was the last of their people, arguably; if he asked nicely, she could be willing to twist a few things for the public. With Naboo as it was, however, meeting a second time under formal circumstances was a testament of Kylo's willingness to pursue an arrangement. It would be considered a proposal unless he declared otherwise, and if a third meeting, an acceptance, was made... Kylo was taken with him enough to want to try again; hopefully Hux felt the same. And that was as far as he was willing to go.

Embassy or not, Kylo didn't allow his mother to interfere with his second date. For all he knew, Hux wouldn't even show and it would end in a leisurely pleasure trip. As far as his mother was aware, that was all it was, nevermind that she had been young once and knew exactly what he was up to.

He took extra care with his clothes and makeup, extra time for his hair and all ornaments in it. He tried not to think too hard about the implications of success on this endeavor, not to think about what could and would happen if it went well. Armitage Hux was unique, and mysterious, and renowned for his intelligence- granted, Kylo hadn't had the chance to see much of that. Together, they could break the molds that had shaped the galaxy for millenia. Kylo intended to do so regardless, but with a support at his side, especially of a military mind, his chances at victory were that much stronger. Together, they could forge an Intergalactic Order and restore broader law to people everywhere. Achieve galactic peace. At least, with the Hux name tied to his, he would have that much more credibility to his cause. Two planets, superpowers in their own right, were better than one.

Nevermind the circumstances that union would logically fall under.

Eyes rimmed in kohl and hair tousled, he felt more himself than he had a week ago. Makeup was a huge part of Naboo culture, and black was a valiant color, one for power and a cause of fear. The line down his mouth was red; he was royal, and the status came with its own requirements, but red indicated worthiness. It wasn't so bad an inclusion.

Arkanis was in the early stages of its cold season, the plants dying off and leaving thorny skeletons in their places. The husks would crumble in a few short moon cycles, would crunch underfoot like bone, brittle and white. While this produced fields of white shell, beautiful to be looked upon over long distances, Kylo still found it incredibly unsettling when their ship landed with the crackle of a thousand dead things. It was awesome.

He stood out against all the scenery, even as he approached the white embassy building. It was so marked by the violently red accents setting it apart from the rest of the street. Naboo was obtrusive anywhere it cared to be represented. Kylo found it fitting; his mother was the same way. 

The sky was dark with clouds and the natives were as ghostly as all the tabloids said. It was equally unsettling, in fact, when everyone around him was a fading shade of pink or gold or the other, while he stood with his dark hair and dark eyes and, comparatively, tan skin. Children watched him as he passed, and little ones pointed only to be hushed by their guardians. He had read about Arkanisan camouflage, of course, but seeing it in practice was still odd.

Hux was literally a flash of color in an otherwise monochromatic group, red hair and summer-toned softness, reflective of the planet’s warm season. It didn't matter that his camouflage was severely off- it wasn't as though they were still in hunter gatherer days- but it was clear by his quick glances from person to person that he was self-conscious about it. Armitage sat with practiced posture, dressed in pale, pressed grey and finely shined shoes. His buttons were straight, his necktie was even, and if it weren't for the sake of his beacon-like coloring on the cityscape, Kylo wouldn't have recognized him. He was put together, composed, and certain, completely different from the anxious wreck he had been before. Hux was the poster child of professional meeting attire.

Now Kylo was the one dressed askew.

He watched Hux adjust his cufflinks before standing to greet him. The shock, nay, panic in his expression was mostly concealed, but the crease between his eyebrows betrayed his alarm. He had assembled the wrong entourage entirely, not once, but twice, and whatever second chance he had prayed for was certainly lost.

This panic was firmly shielded in a moment. Kylo wondered where that reflex had been last week.

“...Kylo,” came the quiet greeting. A nod, an aversion of the eyes, a subtle shift of weight. Still, though, it was his name, his actual name, and followed by no titles. Personal; despite himself, Kylo smiled.

And the panic was back.

“--I spent the last several months on conference tours with my father, I left in the spring and-” Armitage stopped abruptly and collected himself. “...I've not settled into the rhythm of the planetary seasons yet.” 

“You're no more visible than I am,” Kylo shrugged. “Cleaner cut, maybe,” and Hux flushed red with shame. “--I'm pleased you accepted my invitation,” he offered, probably more hopefully than was appropriate.

Before Hux could respond, Kylo had to step aside so a winter-pale couple and their white hound could pass between them. The space apart was uncomfortably wide enough already that moving further away made sense, but now, they were even more estranged, and honestly, Kylo had never been so self aware in his life. Closing the gap would be sensible, but also a statement. Leaving it open would be rude, but come too close and have his intended widen it again...mortifying. Rejection.

Kylo didn't have to worry much, though, because Hux crossed the divide himself and with a little too much vigor. Too much because the realization that Armitage had crossed the Too Close line came with a start. Both leaned back slightly, both noticed, and both reacted in the worst way. Kylo laughed. Hux glared at the ground. And no one said anything.

“I would prefer a private address,” Hux voiced suddenly, loudly, in their tight bubble of space. He was close enough to hold, or to kiss, or to comfort. Kylo didn't dare.

“--What?”

Armitage put his reservations aside to pinch the bridge of his nose and breathe deeply. He wouldn't look Kylo in the eye, but by now, the prince was used to it. This time, he spoke clearly and slowly, as though speaking to a child.

“I would _prefer_ a _private_ _address_.”

He crossed his arms, defensive, and finally- finally!- stared Kylo in the face. He seemed tired, and again, Kylo felt bad. Hux's tone was firm.

“I want to talk.”

 

-

 

Armitage had long since abandoned the prospect of winning the prince over. There was no charade he could keep up, at least not a good one, and this flavor of mission was far enough out of his league that he had to drop it. If he didn't,  he would lose his mind. This was not a commander he had to feign loyalty to, not an enemy for whom he had to play weak and demure. This was a prince, The Prince, and the illusion was one of affection and trust and...an entirely different personality. There were parts of himself he couldn't shed, and apparently, two of those parts were copious buildups of distress and a need for public neicity. It was time for plan B.

Intimidation, and negotiation.

He was to serve as a guide for tourism. Fine. But Kylo had agreed to a more discreet area for conversation, and so the first real moves were his. Hux took him to a park, a common space for so-called “dates”, that doubled as an isolator in and of itself. Pairs didn't approach one another, and it was cool and dry enough that most would rather congregate elsewhere. The perennial trees molting their stalks made for dusty clothing later, but it couldn't be helped. Mr. Solo should have done more research before he turned up in chilly, chalky, dry Arkanis in black.

“You seek a partner,” Armitage started. It was not a question, not an invitation to speak. “That's why you're here, is it not?”

Kylo blinked at the aggression in his tone, surprised at the urgency. He wasn't particularly searching, but he nodded slowly. In this context, it would be difficult to deny.

“You're looking for ties to forces with strong militaries, yes? To secure control?”

In Hux's opinion, any other reason was a foolish one, but the question was relevant. To Kylo, it felt off putting. Nevertheless, frowning, he agreed.

“I'm seeking security,” Hux announced. “Can you offer me that, yes or no?”

Apparently, when Hux got himself started, it was difficult for him to stop. Kylo could relate to that; he was the same in pursuit of his ambitions and personal study. Hux, though, was a creature of thought, and he seemed to just go around and around until he reached a satisfactory conclusion. Kylo decided that he didn't mind listening, but where this was going had him lost.

Hux, in Kylo's mind, had no cause to demand any of these answers. They weren't exactly secret, as his mother's matches for him had a type and all were published across the Holonet, but just as well, a marriage wasn't about that. To some extent, part of him wanted a brighter daily life than his parents had made together- one of distant parenting and fighting. Still, Hux was asking for security. A happy home or otherwise couldn't be guaranteed, but Kylo, at least, could promise protection. From what, he didn't ask. It probably had something to do with the cuts on his wrists and arms and Force knew where else.

“Yes or no?”

Kylo squared his shoulders.

“Yes.”

The following questions were just as abrupt and impersonal, but as they went on, growing more specific by the way, the detachment seemed harder and harder for Hux to keep up. An hour had passed, and patiently, attentively Kylo had endured it. Granted, he was getting progressively more agitated with the tone of the situation, but he was an adult. If he wanted his reward, he would have to bide his time.

“...Do you expect the traditional benefits of a legal union between persons?”

“Care to clarify that?” Kylo crumbled a handful of flora in his hands and let it scatter, dismissive. His palms were white. Hux went quiet for the first time in an hour, and when Kylo looked, he saw that Armitage was fidgeting. Picking his fingernails, biting his lip, looking for all the world like he needed an escape.

“No.”

Kylo raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Then no,” he replied with more ease than he felt. The Arkanis mystery he had been so obsessed with was showing his colors again, and Kylo felt the pull of adventure once more. The thrill of seeing someone real. Granted, there was more- there had to be, had to be, had to be- but so far, this side of him was all Kylo had been given. He had come to get more acquainted. This was the closest he had been to that goal all afternoon.

“I can't expect from you or, well, anyone, something I'm not sure of, so...no.”

“--Is this a proposal?”

There was the panic again, sharp in his voice like lemon, startling and misplaced. Kylo chose his words carefully.

“Is...that a proposal?” It was all he could think of, but Kylo figured if someone asked whether or not they were proposed, that it could double as a proposal in itself. The whole conversation sounded like a highly stringent marriage contract anyhow, and according to Naboo tradition, technically, unless he redacted it…

“Yes.”

Kylo blinked. “Yes?”

Hux only nodded, and to that effect, Kylo had to sit back a minute.

That was...sudden. And a lot of commitment for someone so flighty.

“...Really?”

“I've laid out my terms quite clearly.”

The curtness was back, but so was the squirming, and as endearing as it was, Kylo wished this conversation could have waited, at least until they could have it comfortably. If that was possible.

His terms had been clear, that was true. He wanted security, and a title, and as was appropriate, access to his home planet and personal fleet on demand. The last bit seemed a bit odd, but he figured as monarch, he could put his foot down if things got out of hand. Not that he was planning on needing to. The title part he had expressed more pointedly than most others, almost as forward as his paraphrased ‘do I have to sleep with you if I don't want to’, and seemed to be the primary concern above all others. Hux wanted to be a free as possible, and given the highest status he was allowed. Judging from his desperation here, more was at stake than Kylo was privy to.

So, would he elevate this strange man to the most permanent position someone other than his own blood could possess? Would he suffer his periodic distress and vulnerability, paired with his forced coldness, with no secure knowledge one way or the other if he could be as supportive and constant as Kylo wanted?

He had always refused defeat, even when it meant embarrassment and failure. Even when it cost him wealth and pride, he never backed down from a challenge.

“I accept.”


	5. Feelin' Cute, but also Very Attacked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality check at a coffee shop.

Sufficient to say, Hux did not think he would make it this far. The height of his distress dropped suddenly, crashing upon him in relief- a shuddering breath. This was quickly followed by an ominous, impending unknown. He closed his eyes.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The prince was still there, sitting across from him in the field, covered in white dust and fragments of shed trees. His makeup was still bold and telling, his features were still unconventional and his eyes were still earnest. He was getting married. He was leaving Arkanis permanently- he was leaving everyone on it to promise fidelity to a stranger. This was what he'd been praying for, this was what he needed. Kylo was a stepping stone to power, to earning his father's respect. His father. Hux thought he might throw up, but that would be the absolute wrong thing to say.

“I might throw up.”

He said it anyway.

“Oh,” Kylo answered quietly. “Do...you need to lay down, or…?”

Hux took another breath, and let it go. Everything required a conscious thought for the time being; he could feel every heartbeat and every contraction of his throat as it tried to swallow the disbelief his tongue couldn't express. He shook his head, and the hand Kylo had been offering to him fell. Hux hadn't even noticed.

“My father,” he began, nigh delirious. His father was going to have a fit. His father would be thrilled. He would throw a grand party; he'd berate him for using dishonorable methods to succeed. A son submissive to another, pulling strings instead of carrying the mantle himself, it would drive him mad. “--is going to kill me.”

Slipping like a snake into the Naboo monarchy through the prince’s bed, yes, his dear old dad would be very proud.

Kylo furrowed his brows in concern. Hux had gone very pale suddenly, and very still. He was confusing to the prince. Answer no to something, he's upset, but answer yes and he goes into shock. He was already learning more about his, well, his betrothed, and so far, it seemed that everything Kylo did only sufficed to distress him in some way. Move, and he would ever so slightly flinch, but remain still and he might flinch anyway, just in case. Was he ever at ease? Were his sleeping hours as troubled as his waking?

Kylo knew enough about Brendol Hux and the Senate to understand the social benefits a marriage between himself and his son would provide. Brendol had a better chance come elections if he had connections high up with a foreign ally; Kylo wondered how much of this was being forced on Hux, and if there was any part of him that could be happy with this arrangement in time. What he didn't understand was why Brendol would “kill” him, and why any of this news could be considered bad.

“...Hux?”

Green eyes stared at him wearily. He looked twenty years older.

_ Do you want this? _ The question perched on the tip of his tongue.  _ Any of it? _

_ You're the saddest person I've ever seen. _

_ You could be more beautiful. _

_ I want you to like me. _

_ I want to keep you safe. _

“Can I take you out? For food, I mean?”

Hux looked at him, and continued looking at him until Kylo felt rejected, like he should shut this whole thing down and cut his losses while he still could. Then Armitage spoke.

“...There's a little caf place down the street, if that's okay. If you were thinking something more substantial--”

“--That's perfect.”

 

-

 

He had more of an appetite than the first time they'd met. Granted, anything would qualify, but when Kylo insisted Hux get whatever he wanted, he didn't expect such an enthused response. He had soups and breads and pastries and didn't offer to share. Kylo didn't ask. Content with his own bite for the day, he sat across from Hux and watched bemused as he picked at one thing and then another, making his way down as though bent on pretending he wasn't eating as much as he was. Kylo figured he could attribute it to stress, and decided he was pleased to provide some kind of distraction from whatever caused it.

He wasn't sure if he should bring up what they had just agreed to. It was at the forefront of his mind, of course, but it looked like Hux needed to forget about it for the immediate time being, at least the implications, and the last thing Kylo wanted to do was push his luck. Hux moved at his own pace. If this was going to work, he had to respect that.

“Is it that good?” Kylo chuckled. Small talk wasn't his favorite, but he could make due. Hux was red. “--Just, you didn't eat last time. I wondered if you like Arkanis food better.”

Armitage swallowed his previous bite self-consciously and cleared his throat. Kylo could see him winding himself up like a twist-up toy, getting ready to go.

“I wasn't well,” he murmured. “I’m afraid you'll have to forgive me.”

Kylo rested his chin in his hand, watching. He was really sweet when he was embarrassed- it was the most positive response he'd gotten and he was eating it up. “That's alright,” the prince hummed. “I didn't mind.”

“Clearly,” Armitage shot back, popping another piece of sweetbread into his mouth. Kylo snickered, and made a mental note that his new lover (?) liked dessert best.

“So...I'd like to ask you a question,” Kylo said tentatively after a minute, sitting up. 

“I don't know what you could possibly want,” Hux answered frankly. “I'm already marrying you.”

“--Yes.” The redhead was relaxed, most of the anxiety gone from his features. He didn't want to ruin the moment, or the mood- it was a nice mood, and Kylo had always been poor at flirting, but he steeled himself and went on. “Which I'm very glad about, by the way, thank you. But why… Last week, was all that for me?”

Tension. Hux slowly lowered his spoon, lowered his eyes. His voice was strung tight, made to sound casual. Over audio, Kylo wouldn't know the difference.

“What do you mean?”

“...You know what I mean.”

“I was unwell, Kylo,” he took a sip of caf with emphasized ease. His swallow was pained. “I would prefer not to speak of it again.”

Kylo paused. He hated dropping the subject, especially if he was told to. When he asked questions, he wanted answers, expected them, but his eyes caught the light tremor in his right hand, the strained flush creeping up Armitage's neck from his racing heart.

Kylo dropped it.

Intrigue be damned, he wasn't about to mess this up.

When the discussion went no further, Hux relaxed back into himself to a point, but the seed of worry was planted. He wouldn't be so unguarded again, not today. Kylo was kicking himself. The soup was cold. By now, only one thing was unanimously clear: they had to tell someone about the engagement.

Kylo wasn't terribly interested in staying on Arkanis this time of year. The camouflage issue was still very unsettling to him, and Armitage was the closest person to normal within his line of sight. Granted, the various breeds of human all had their own idiosyncrasies, many of which he'd come to be familiar with. However, the idea that someone could radically change appearance if it got a little chilly out made him faintly...uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine Hux looking any differently than he did now. In the silent return to the embassy, he wondered which seasonal distinction Hux preferred. Kylo had already made his pick. 

It made the most sense to approach the Arkanisan side of the arragement first- they were already here, after all, and his mother was no newcomer to political match proposals made from afar. The only thing about this one was that Kylo was interested; his holopad was on and ready to approve it. He had rejected literally hundreds of applications, most without reading the contents. The fact that he'd glanced over Hux's with even moderate comprehension was a miracle. For the first time in his life, Kylo could say with relative certainty that he was grateful for his mother's meddling.

They passed the embassy.

The sound of wistful Arkanis humming around them buzzed in Kylo's ears. He had no way of knowing where exactly they were going- Hux's house, probably -but he allowed the ginger to lead him. His thoughts still whirled aimlessly. Hux didn't want to talk much, and again, Kylo didn't want to push, but also, he was mindful of his temper. He wasn't infinitely patient the way Hux seemed to be, and wasn't all-knowing. He was itching to do something- take Hux's hand, perhaps -but until there was an arrangement on paper, he could take no risks. No one had made him lose his bearings so consistently before, nor was Kylo accustomed to feeling out of control of what was happening, and truly, he had no control here, but Hux made it all so  _ interesting _ that he couldn't help but allow it. The tilt of his head, the twitch of his fingers against his palm, the way he would glance at Kylo periodically to make sure he was still there, still harmless, before returning to his task; it all had the prince so utterly captivated that just then, Kylo might follow him anywhere.

The spell was broken as his guide stopped abruptly, or so it seemed, as Kylo hadn't been paying attention. He walked right into him, and both stumbled, Hux catching his fall on Kylo's shoulder while Kylo grabbed at the nearby fence. When Hux looked up, their noses bumped; if things weren't as strained as they were, Kylo might have laughed.

“Some things you ought to know,” Hux murmured as, blushing faintly, he ducked under Kylo's arm to the open air, “My father is a military man at heart. He has little patience for… genteel matters.”

Kylo watched as he straightened his jacket, an apparent nervous tick. He glanced at their surroundings; again, he hadn't paid much attention when they first passed, too occupied with his own thoughts. They stood outside a looming gateway, above it engraved a phrase of something or other in the native language. From his limited knowledge of Arkanisan, it was something approximating ‘STRENGTH. MERCY. JUSTICE.’, which didn't sound awful for a motto, until Hux noticed where his attention had gone.

“Can you read that?”

Kylo stood a little taller. “Strength, mercy--”

“‘Mercy weakens the law’,” Hux corrected.His tone was matter-of-fact. “The mercy is in the negative form. ‘Strength’ is contextual within the character for ‘law’, the same way ‘power’ might be. ...It's a fairly common saying here.”

Kylo had nothing to say to that, other than the Queen would be horrified. Compassionate lawmaking was her cup of tea. To hear that the appeal to humanity she was so famous for inhibited her ability to govern fairly would turn her green.

“I like it,” Kylo said. “It's very authoritarian.”

And for the first time ever, the Naboo prince finally got a glimpse of a real smile.


	6. Help, I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parents, parents, pARENTS

The look on his father's face when he walked in with the Crown Prince of Naboo on his arm was going to be priceless. For the sake of self respect, Hux had contained his bubbling excitement over the course of their entire walk. He could have called a car, of course, and perhaps it would have been more courteous to do so, but he needed the time to take everything in. His whole life was about to change, and the more he thought about it, the more excited he got. The road leading up to his house was straight and well-paved, orderly, all lined in black iron fencing and crowded with towering mansions. The largest, and the emptiest, belonged to he and his family. It was complete with a massive yard he had never been allowed to play in, and a gate that shut out the whole world. Hux had watched with amusement as his guest attempted to translate what everyone off-world could agree was one of the more complicated writing systems in the galaxy, and was charmed by his effort. Kylo was attentive and witty and, granted, obtrusive, but he was also thoughtful, and at the very least, was interested in Hux’s happiness and well-being. The best part about all of this was that Hux was fairly certain that he could come to like him. Love was another question, but toleration? Absolutely within his line of sight. He couldn't deny finding him somewhat attractive, if not emotionally, then physically. Even if he didn't, Kylo had told him sincerely that he wouldn't be expected to fulfill that role if he didn't want to. Against his better judgement, Hux believed him completely. 

It would be inappropriate to initiate unnecessary contact or draw attention to them in public; the second they were through that gate and in the door, though, he was ready to gloat. Linking arm in arm with his counterpart rather suddenly, Hux paid no mind to Kylo's surprise and subsequent pleasure. This was the announcement of a lifetime; his good fortune could fall no lower than Prince Consort of one of the most influential civilizations in the galaxy.

There had been moments of discomfort leading up to this moment. At one point he thought the relief would make him ill, but he had gotten the prince's word that his rights would be protected above all else. He had triumphed. As he was told, Hux had done whatever it took to achieve this success, and any fears he had concerning his father's potential disapproval were shoved into a box somewhere and buried. They were both inconvenient and illogical; the still healing wounds on his inner arm reminded him that he had gone to extreme lengths to get this far. Even if his methods hadn't worked to plan, still, they had worked, and his father would have no reason to chasten him.

He wouldn't.

His last words to Kylo before entering were these: “Let me do the talking.”

No one alive could handle his father better.

 

It was a big house for two people, covered wall to wall with memorabilia of Arkanis’ conquests and wars for expansion.  Leia's only complaint with Arkanis, really, was its penchant for colonialism, but those were the days of the Empire, and supposedly, those times were far behind them. Kylo never thought there were people still pining for those glory years. Everyone he could think of was a character in a ghost story, part of a congregation of men and women in black hoods with fire in their hands. They were part of his history and legacy, but one killed from memory. Brendol Hux was one of those that grasped tightly after that legacy of brutality and hate, and that was why, Kylo could guess, he had been ousted from the Senate. His opinions and perspective were unwelcome in the new worlds, and for that, he had been silenced.

The hypocrisy of it was not lost on any of them.

Brendol Hux was not one to rush and greet his guests. Kylo was not surprised by this, having spent enough time with Hux to become familiar, but that seemed to be their only real similarity. They resembled one another in the face, but the father was meaner than the son, and every line in his face betrayed bitterness. Brendol sat in a large plush chair on the far side of a long desk, surrounded wall to wall by looming bookcases and dim lights. If he was honest with himself, Kylo didn't want to go in; men who sat in dark rooms and scowled and schemed unnerved him, so different from the bright, open rooms of Naboo architecture. Brendol’s stare felt greasy on Kylo's skin, and the dark energy radiating from his desk seemed to seep over him and liven the Force. This man, Kylo could sense, delighted in the shedding of blood and taking advantage of the innocent. His every breath shuddered warning, that yes, he was old, but he was far from dead. Pity to the fool who crossed him.

Kylo had seldom felt so disturbed, yet so compelled to respect someone.

Hux was practically bouncing out of his skin, seemingly impervious to the effect his father had on outsiders. The man could probably kill a bouquet of flowers by looking at it and would sooner snap the neck of a kitten in front of a child than offer a sincere apology, but still, Armitage was bursting with renewed pride.

With a wave of his hand, Brendol granted permission for them to enter the study, and with a nod, came the license to speak.

“--I have news.”

“Clearly,” the former general glowered, picking Kylo to bones with his eyes. “You know I hate redundancy, come out with it.”

Hux seemed to have reigned himself in by now, but the fierce eagerness still remained. Kylo hadn't been so attracted to him before then; of all the moods, anxiety, determination, and friendliness, pride was most becoming.

“Naboo has accepted our proposal.” 

His grip on Kylo's arm got ever so slightly tighter. Hux was holding his breath; the only sound was the ticking of an old clock on the wall. Brendol was set on making him wait.

The old man, with red hair greying, or perhaps in the middle of a shift in season, slowly gathered his papers. He put away his pens one by one, and then his pencils, all in their proper, exact places. He straightened his paperweights. He pulled a file from his desk, he placed his glasses on his nose, he opened the file. Kylo was on the verge of losing his patience. Meanwhile, Hux was vibrating; every passing moment was mounting to something wonderful, at least in his mind.

When Brendol began reading whatever new papers he had revealed,  _ ignoring them _ , Kylo had had it. He disliked the way the general looked at him, sizing him up like a target, and he hated the large, oppressive style of the room, the house, all of it. He hated to be made small, and more than anything, he hated being looked over and tried, as though he were a petulant child in need of a lesson.

“--We're getting married,” Kylo announced suddenly. Hux went very still. “We've discussed the contents of the contract privately, and I'm making a formal proposal. Now.”

Brendol smiled with his white teeth, an alarmingly amused smile, but didn't look away from his file for a long breath. Hux had gone very, very pale, almost as pale as the people they had passed on the street all washed out to the color of ash. Kylo's bravado began, faintly, to waver. The file closed with a clap on the table.

“Privately,” he echoed, as though it were a curse. “I see.”

Hux, very slowly, pulled his hand away from Kylo's. It shook as he did so, as though it took every iota of composure to stand on his own, but the rest of him appeared calm and unbothered, in control. Kylo was beginning to sense he had done something very wrong.

“If this isn't wonderful news,” Brendol mused, rising from his chair. Hux was already shaking his head. “We ought to drink to it.”

“That isn't necessary--”

“We will drink to it,” the general repeated, already pouring what looked like a form of wine into short glasses Kylo could only to assume had materialized. A quick glance around the room revealed a set of whiskeys and brandy in the shadows of a bookshelf, but the circumstance continued to make him squirm.

“I'm sure his Highness won't object.”

A glass was being offered to him, held out by the soft, well-manicured hand of a man who could turn his fiance to stone, and Kylo had no desire to take it. In fact, he was tempted to whisk Hux away right now and hop onto the nearest ship, but a nudge in his side bade him to accept. Hux had taken his own glass. He gripped it too hard, Kylo could see, and his fingers were white from pressure. He worried he may drop it.

“To Naboo, yes?” 

Taking Brendol’s lead, they each raised their glasses. Kylo murmured a quiet repeat of the phrase before drinking- it was sour -but nearly choked as the man ended his toast.

“...And the Prince’s latest purchase.”

Hux downed his shot as Kylo sputtered, looking resigned. He placed a hand on his shoulder, as was appropriate, but the heaviness of it told Kylo to shut his mouth- let it go. Sadly, Hux didn't know him well enough to realize this would lend to the opposite effect.

“--It's a marriage of equal terms, not a- a transaction,” he raised his voice. Armitage tightened his grip on the glass; Kylo went on, “I'm not buying anything-”

“Armitage is to be transferred from my care to yours in exchange for due services.” Brendol sipped his wine casually. “It's negotiated and finalized via documents.”

“He's not- he isn't  _ livestock, _ ” the prince protested, incredulous.

Still, the former general had an unruffled answer. “You buy an ox for strength, a cow for milk, and a Hux for his mind. Chalk it up to, ah, cultural dissonance, shall we?” The glass clinked on the desk, and Brendol approached. Kylo resisted the urge to step back, instead coming forward between he and Hux. Whatever was coming next, he didn't like, and the sooner this was over, the better. “Before any definitive statements are made, I would like to speak to my boy on subject of this monumental occasion. Armitage?”

Kylo grit his teeth. A hand pressed his shoulder, Hux's, but still, he did not move.

“Your Highness,” Brendol chimed. He smelled of smoke and aftershave.

Still, Kylo would not move.

The amused glint in the old man's eye had faded. “It's my right to reevaluate the contract on our part,” he said pleasantly. “Her Majesty, the Queen, would do the same for you.” Brendol’s gaze went to Hux again, promising a sore penance, before returning to Kylo. “Allow an old man the comfort of knowing his only child is going to be fully provided for. Unless,” he said carefully, “there are portions of this supposed agreement he would object to?”

Now, Kylo could have done many things. He could have taken Hux and walked out. He could have called on the Force, which was very, very available to him at the moment, and brought Brendol to his knees. He could have done the same to kill him, could have brought the house down, could have made a mounted blaster fall and go off simultaneously in the direction of the general and so on, make it look like an accident. Hux didn't like his father- was afraid of him, Kylo thought. He was going to twist his mind and make their arrangement come out unfair, even contrary to what Hux had said was most important. He might even call it off, and cut Kylo's quest to a devastating close. What would happen then was difficult to say, but nevertheless, he stepped aside, and left his intended behind a closed door.

 

-

 

His father had never been an affectionate man, much less overly affectionate, and neither he nor Armitage were too comfortable with one another. Phasma was always Brendol’s favorite, his perfect little girl. Now, she was his reckless little soldier and the height of his pride. Untamed as she was, though, that left Armitage to carry the mantle of his family name, and weather the brunt of his father's moods. Between the two of them, they had split Brendol’s talents in half. Phasma had inherited the ruthlessness and cruelty, and Armitage, ambition and cunning. Everyone knew this; anything less than excellent was failure.

Damn Ben Solo to the ether for his insolence- why couldn't he listen? Hux didn't have the energy to be angry. He had the situation under control; if Kylo had stayed quiet, it might have stayed that way.

“Speak, child.”

His father hadn't referred to him as a child in years. His ears burned.

“The Prince was charmed by our first meeting and extended an informal proposal,” he answered hotly, “I felt it appropriate to accept.”

Hux stood tall and stiff, his chin up and shoulders square. He could look down on his father these days, age shrinking him, but those old eyes were sharp and warning. He would do well to remember his place.

The old general sighed and leaned against the desk. “And you arranged a contract...privately.”

Armitage chose his words carefully, would have to if he valued- what, exactly? What did he want to preserve here? His father wanted a cut of his marriage arrangement, but why should he go to such great lengths to give it to him? The last few weeks had been nothing but study and distress, anxiety- physical mutilation and subsequent shame -but what had his father suffered? To what end did Armitage owe his father the coattails of his own success?

He didn't.

He could choose.

Brendol was staring at him expectantly, grinding his teeth, clearly thinking Hux had betrayed him in some way. He hadn't. He couldn't say where this sudden surge of defiance had come from, perhaps the door to freedom Kylo had just opened for him, but that immediate second, Hux could find in himself no shred of cordiality.

“It's arranged as I see fit,” he shifted his weight to a more confident stance, grounded, “I've no intention of changing it.”

“I won't sign a word of it--”

“I'm of age.”

It was Brendol turn to flush an angry shade of red, his turn to squirm under Hux's gaze and feel underprepared. His voice was harsh with effort, spittle flew from his lips.

“You're playing dress up! You put on  _ my _ name and you flounce around, making contracts--”

“You told me to woo the Naboo heir,  _ and I did _ .” Brendol coughed a laugh and crossed his arms. Still riding adrenaline, Hux went on. “He likes me- I don't know why, or how, but Ben Solo has chosen me and he's given his word to honor any terms.”   
“And he'll keep it, eh?”   
His father's bitter grin couldn't penetrate his resolve, though it may shake. Kylo would keep his word. If he broke it, there could be Intergalactic Relations involved. More than just divorce, there could be grounds for malice. Hux was no prince, Arkanis had no such system, but as a military state, the family name was high enough in the pecking order for bad blood to have repercussions. Beyond logistics, though, Hux trusted him to tell the truth. Kylo was honest. He was.   
Still, Armitage didn't answer. Instead, he looked at his father, really looked at him, and in place of the pillar of strength and fortitude he had always beheld, there was only an old man. An old man who was afriad.   
"...Phasma isn't going to be your nursemaid," he said lowly, watching Brendol pale. "Where will you be, should I leave you?"   
A coldness settled in the pit of his stomach. His father was speaking to him, would yell soon, but he had no will to listen. They both knew the truth of the situation. Hux wasn't livestock to be sold, nor a commodity to be bought; his father was no keeper. No, he was getting married (married!) to someone he would very much like to love someday, if it could be so, and the success of his venture was purely up to him. Hux opened the door, where Kylo was pacing, and left.   
  
He looked tired. That was the first thing Kylo noticed, but the second was that Hux was more relaxed than ever. His step was light, the heaviness on his brow eased, and while lingering upset weighed his shoulders, he was in no more danger of drowning. Hux stood straight, an arm tucked behind his back as his free one offered, palm up, to him, his expression formal but with an underlying softness Kylo had yet to see. The prince took that hand and, burning questions aside, allowed himself to be lead from the house. As he had waited, he messaged his mother privately of his intentions in hope that Hux wasn't en route to changing his mind. Judging by the sudden hand-holding and abject positivity, though, it appeared his hoping had paid off. All that was left to do, beyond on-paper negation and fanfare, was the marriage itself, and from there they could do as they liked. They were still strangers, still in an odd and precarious place, but no matter how convenient it was, Kylo wanted to be married. He never thought he would, but just then, he was happier for it than he'd been for anything. Go figure.

 

-

 

Leia was, to say the least, surprised. At this point, she had stopped sorting the desirables from the lesser of her son's potential matches and had started throwing them at him in droves, hoping he'd take one seriously. The Arkanisan file was one of those that slipped beneath the radar.

Arkanis, and the Hux family in particular, was known for its extremist views in support of the Empire, and its iron fist ideology backed by a military government. Naboo was leading the charge against tyranny and rallying for peace. The Arkanisan representative had recently been removed from the Senate on grounds of potential intergalactic terrorism- it was serious! And here was her son, her beloved, fiery, stubborn, brave,  _ strange _ little boy, who when given a real choice in matters of leadership, chose to throw the Rebel charge in the face of his people, his planet, and his mother.

Leia was shocked. 

How she had allowed this to happen, she had no clue. She tried to recall the events of the past few weeks, in the midst of the media storm surrounding censorship in the Senate and justifying the goals of the New Galaxy. Her Ben had had a date he was going on, a real audience with a suitor he'd found interesting, and she had done little more than help him get dressed and prepare some topic cards for conversation. Swamped with work, it was the most she could do, and even those tender moments of intervention she could tell he resented. Then, he had come home and stormed about- normal behavior -and from there...she had no clue. He had gone on a pleasure trip, a joy ride in one of Han’s ships to a moon or something. Leia hadn't thought anything of it until she got word from the Arkanisan embassy- the ambassador of which she was doing paperwork to have returned -that her flesh and blood had personally flown in and extended a proposal via a second meeting without even telling her about it. A second meeting with an Arkanisan military leader. A second. A  _ second _ , followed by a holomessage informing her that current General Armitage Hux, son of the former general and ousted terrorism enthusiast, Brendol Hux, whom she had, weeks ago, denounced across all worlds, had accepted her son's proposal.

They were on Arkanis right now. She knew because minutes after the ‘he said yes’ text, she had gotten an image file detailing Ben, in black makeup and his hair wild, the fool, kissing the cheek of a red-faced, red-haired Arkanis boy on the backdrop of the Naboo Embassy, where everyone could see.

She hadn't seen a selfie of Ben's that didn't have something about darkness or death scrawled across it in a few years at least. She had seen pictures of him in a good mood even less frequently, and the look of this Armitage character didn't appear entirely menacing. Then again, she had to remind herself that he had been bred to kill and trained to omit compassion, heralding the infamous, “ _ Mercy weakens the law” _ on every campaign and field mission.

Force, she hated that saying.

The photo was already booming across the Holonet, and there was little to do to stop it. It was up on the official holosite of the royal family, and bore the Naboo seal. ‘he said yes’, it read simply.

He said yes.


	7. I'll Follow You Until You Love Me  (Papa-Paparazzi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Naboo!

Returning to his father's house was out of the question for now; outlining paperwork on Naboo would be Hoth, but contending with the old senator again was a harsher proposition. The rumor mill on Arkanis was low-simmering, and there were no real crowds or cult followings that dared show their faces- they were a quiet, serious people, and understood formality and courtesy. So when word got out, the hum of interest was more attention than he was used to, but nothing unmanageable. He had been getting similar off-looks because of the seasonal difference- he should have gone to the warm side of the planet instead of home.

  
Hux didn't expect much worse than Arkanis' quiet stares, even on another planet. He assumed there may be a little more fanfare, but nothing seriously disruptive. Naboo would prove him very wrong.  
Kylo had wanted to get offworld as soon as possible. He wouldn't say, but Armitage could guess why. His planet was too different, he supposed, from Naboo's gilded summers. The homogeneous mix on Arkanis jarred him. That was what happened when a planet closed airspace for a few decades. Everyone looked the same, talked the same, spouted the same twisted facts spoonfed to them by the government. Hux knew what from what purely because of his state service; the men and women who joined his fleet were on a mere need-to-know, and knew better than to ask. The more he thought about it, the more he questioned his father's plan to marry him off. Naboo ran a completely different star-system. At first glance, politically, this would never work.

  
This will never work.

  
These were his thoughts in the copilot's seat of Kylo's charming grey starship, one he recognized from war histories and footage of the greatest battles for the Empire: the Millennium Falcon. His jaw had dropped when he saw it. How Kylo managed clearance was beyond him- well, with the embassy, clearly, and registering it with Intergalactic Relations -but this was a craft of legend. It may not have been common knowledge amongst his people, but Armitage knew enough to be dumbstruck, and now, he was in the copilot's chair. They broke atmosphere after roaring light, fire, and his stomach dropped in the way he loved about flying. The Falcon evened herself out to sail smoothly; Armitage watched the stars pass them by, in the copilot's chair of the most renowned starships of the war.

  
"--Alright over there?"

  
"...Yes?"

  
Kylo snorted and set the autopilot to Home, hardly looking up as he rolled his sleeves. "You're shaking," he murmured, a self-assured half smile quirking his lips. "Hot as a fifth sun in here, damn-- Nervous flier?"

  
Armitage shook his head simply and watched his newly betrothed flaunt himself, because that was what he was doing. Tattoos snaked down his left arm, a bit peeking out from under his shirt collar, and Armitage vaguely recognized the symbols. Jedi script, and the insignia of the royal family were wrapped artfully along a lightsaber, a scythe symbolic of his uncle’s farming roots, a wreath of Alderaan flowers. It seemed his past was valuable to him, valuable enough to be marked on his skin, even if in Hux's humble opinion, it was tacky as hell.  Kylo was showing off, pleased beyond measure and prancing like a show-horse. At minimum, Armitage certainly hoped he was; it was little more than warm in the cockpit, though nowhere near hot, and if Kylo wasn't removing his sweater for the purpose of boosting his physical appeal, well. Armitage hated to think what that said about him.

  
"--Half a joke," he heard Kylo saying, down to a thin undershirt and plaiting his hair from his eyes. "You're a military man. Doesn't serve well t'have pre-flight jitters."

  
Armitage didn't answer. His mouth was dry all over again, working to quiet the itch on the underside of his wrist. He wasn't nervous because of the ship. He was nervous because of how close they were, confined to a craft and forced to make horrible, awkward contact. He was just within Kylo's reach; at anytime, the prince could decide to make another move, and there would be little Hux could do to justifiably resist. They were in a precarious position, an informal, partial legal agreement. He may have seemed forgiving and patient, but no matter how trustworthy he seemed, Armitage was bound to hit Kylo's limit eventually. The prince was looking at him fixedly now, whereas before he had fidgeted and fumbled with his appearance to avoid his eyes. When their gazes caught, Kylo was the first to look away.

 

  
Kylo had tried to channel his father. He had seen Han charm even the toughest of aliens on their secret rendezvous together. He still remembered his "Old man's tips and tricks," as Han had referred to them, even if he hadn't listened at the time. They hadn't flown together in years, so he was rusty on said tricks, but he honestly couldn't tell if they were working. Armitage was looking at him like he wanted an answer, and Kylo, for the life of him, didn't remember the question- didn't know what any of this really meant.

  
He had agreed to all of his weirdly specific terms, and accompanied him to his father's- he got a bad taste in his mouth thinking about it -they had taken the picture that was definitely plastered around the galaxy by now, even if the moments following had Armitage politely but firmly breaking away from him. Even if, to a point, that had hurt.  
Now, Armitage was looking at him, and he didn't know what he expected.

  
"No one's ever done that before," Armitage said suddenly, voice somewhat harsh from his persistent silence. "--Stood up to the general on my behalf."

  
"You don't have to thank me or anything, if-"

  
"It was unnecessary." Even a tone as quiet as that stopped Kylo in his thoughts. "I come from a culture of give and take, and I agreed to no correlating returns."

  
Kylo frowned. He opened his mouth to protest, mild offense blooming in his chest ready to fester into something angry when he was promptly hushed again, expression one of muted shock. Armitage had taken his hand. It was slender, soft in most places but accustomed to a pilot's wheel, the hold of a gun. It wasn't a firm hold, hardly a hold at all, really, just his hand on top of his, but Armitage was red, forcing himself to even his breathing and hold his eyes.

  
"I am willing to compensate."

  
The words sounded hollow, rehearsed, but Kylo could see that flighty, trapped flicker in his eyes, betraying feeling. Kylo was still frowning, although more so in confusion than upset. In terms of "compensation," he didn't much enjoy the implication that it was expected. Then again, Armitage was strange, adhered to rules in a way Kylo couldn't understand, and it was possible he was using this as an excuse to fulfill a desire of his own. At least, Kylo hoped that's what this was.

  
He hadn't noticed immediately, but they were closer than they were before, brought to awareness when their knees knocked, slipped past one another and settled that way, pressed together. If he thought Armitage had a bit of a nervous twitch before, he was all but trembling now, taking long breaths with longer breaks in between.

  
"...Object now and I'll harbor no offense," he said too loudly. Kylo remained carefully still, brow furrowed. Armitage wasn't looking at him anymore, instead somewhere lower. The neck of his shirt, perhaps, or his lips. It was reasonable to assume he wasn't allowed to talk yet, not without scaring him off, so Kylo did the next best thing.

  
He raised his free hand to Armitage's face and kissed him.

  
He flinched away immediately, a sharp gasp of surprise robbing air from Kylo's mouth, but it was only a moment before he silenced the prince’s apologies, too. Pressing his lips to Hux's had been like petting a feral cat, but when Hux kissed him, there were sparks tingling in his chest, a warmth behind his eyes, and a pointed urgency to it that Kylo found somewhat overwhelming.

  
"Wait--" he got out, but it was swallowed again in Hux's kisses. Kylo figured he could ask questions later. Those nimble fingers were gripping his, short nails sharp on the pilot's chair, and suddenly there was more, too much more, of Hux than he had been prepared for. He didn't like to think about how many times his father claimed his parents had had sex in this chair, certainly didn't want to think about the logistics of it, but like everything else, Hux seemed bent on launching into third base with a hundred and ten percent. Kylo shifted his weight to accommodate the lapful of giddy warmth and red hair he had recently acquired, his hands stable on his waist and no lower.

He reminded himself to ask questions later, but if things got out of hand- a ledge fast-approaching -he braced himself to bear the brunt of Armitage's anger. Kylo figured he would let him wear himself out otherwise, getting used to small hands loosening his hair and smoothing down his neck, his chest, biceps. His touch was firm and rushed, and Kylo didn't mind, but he could feel the way Armitage's breathe came, short and cold as it wracked through his lungs. He could see the tension building in his chest, sense the way the world was crashing from the hectic waves of alarm in the Force. Kylo took his wrist, freezing the clenching fingers scouring into his shirt. They left red blotches of pressure on his chest.

  
All of him was stiff and still, not even shaking, but held, like his breath. Kylo ran a slow touch up and down his side, chiding with soft sounds of comfort until at last, Armitage released a deep sigh. His nose dug sharply into his shoulder, but Kylo allowed it. So long as he wasn't running, wasn't pushing him away.

  
"...Hey," Kylo prompted in his ear. Those lithe fingers picked at his shirt absently. He could feel his tendons working under rough, pink scars. He squeezed some and felt him tense, then settle again just as quickly.

  
"This, uh, didn't serve you well in the army, did it?"

  
Armitage choked on a laugh. "No," he answered. "Force, no." Spell broken, he sat back on his haunches, still very much in Kylo's lap but freer than the prince had seen up to that point. Flushed face and partially mussed hair, clothes wrinkled, the tension in his shoulders all but gone. He ached, but his thoughts were closer to the surface.

  
"Captain Phasma, our superior officer has been incapacitated snogging the enemy," he mocked, tone pitched low and nasal.

Kylo raised his eyebrows at that.

  
"--My sister."

  
"'The enemy'?"

  
Kylo earned a punch to the shoulder; he took it like a man and smiled.

  
-

  
  
They were celebrities overnight.

  
Armitage supposed that Kylo had always been, but now he was getting attention, too- from tabloids, Intergalactic ones Arkanis had long banned access to. He was used to photography, but only during parades and demonstrations. There had never been cause to dig into his personal life; nothing "interesting" ever happened in it. Kylo, on the other hand, was not just the monarch's only son, but had climbed the heights of fame through his mother's hunt for a partner. His pickiness was notorious, and suddenly, the question of "why Hux?" was in more than one mind. Kylo's hasty decision made Armitage interesting, and the whole galaxy wanted to know what made him choice above all the other, more qualified options.

  
Stepping off the ship was met with blinding flashes and cheers, and when his eyes adjusted, Hux overlooked a sea of painted faces. Kylo's hand was on his waist, pushing him gently along, and he jumped, a look of surprise ideal for a cover story.

  
"Relax," he heard in his ear as he was huddled close, practically shielded by Kylo as they ushered through the press. Despite the ease of his walk and the comfort his defensive behavior attempted, it was difficult not to notice his agitation.

  
Since the development on the way over, Armitage felt more safe with Kylo than he was liable to admit. Only Phasma had ever talked him down before, most of these fits coming out rigorously in his command. The panic did serve him in the army; it kept him alert and steadied his hands rather than locking him in a tremoring cage. Without a blaster in hand and something to do, though, he was left like this. Useless, and itching. It was odd, but Kylo somehow understood that.

  
He could breathe again when they made it through the palace gate, the crowd left behind. He could hear, distantly, security guards warding photographers away from the ship; they were putting shields up soon, anyone caught in line of one could lose a limb or life, etc. Even if Armitage had loosened up some, Kylo had clenched teeth. He wanted to ask, but didn't. He hated when others pried for his thoughts.

  
"--She did this on purpose," he was snarling to himself. “I didn't announce our return to _anyone_.”

Hux managed to weasel out of his side, feeling a tad claustrophobic in all of Kylo’s upset, and the other sighed. He looked tired, suddenly.

“I swear, I didn't.”

“...I believe you.”

Their fingers brushed, fingertips gripping one another for no longer than a breath. A lot had changed very quickly, and Hux more so than Kylo was feeling the whiplash. It left him lightheaded. He hadn't meant to jump Kylo on the ship- admittedly, however, his advances had come on very strong, strong enough that the prince actually stopped him from pushing his luck any further. He had assumed that was what Kylo wanted from him; even if he denied the expectation, Hux would be a fool to assume he was neutral on the matter. If he meant to keep him, there had to be more substantial ties than promise alone. Sex was a way to accomplish that, get Kylo as emotionally invested as possible. He still felt insecure in his position, in Kylo’s intentions, and the affair on the Falcon confused him more than anything. If Kylo didn't want sex, and didn't care much for politics, then why call on him again? Why skip even a third meeting, as custom in his culture, and jump headfirst into a wedding straightaway? He had been less than charming, Armitage still refused to speak on their first impressions, and he had little to offer by way of a dowry. Kylo had proved he at least valued his autonomy in the general’s office, but Armitage couldn't help but question his own appeal. It didn't make sense and that was all there was to it. Kylo had nothing to gain.

The front hall of the royal house was full of windows and sun, a stark contrast to the narrow darkness of the Arkanisan style. No wonder Kylo blanched as he had. Armitage, for his clout, felt small in such a broad, undefined space and found himself looking for hiding places, cataloguing exits. He was too open to danger.

A servant girl all dressed in red, makeup rosy, jumped to attention and scurried out the far door, presumably to notify someone. Kylo groaned.

“We're summoned,” he huffed.

Hux frowned. “You said you didn't-”

“She'll send someone soon enough. Come on.”

The prince grabbed him by the hand somewhat carelessly, certainly less careful than he'd been with him thus far, but he allowed it. A development.

“...Let her save her breath,” Kylo grunted darkly. “Mother will appreciate the initiative.”


End file.
